


Hurting is the Hardest Part

by violetandneon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, i guess at some point they kiss?, lots of death and guilt, mention of alcoholism, some mentions of violence and injury, two not so nice people recovering not so nicely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetandneon/pseuds/violetandneon
Summary: The Widowmaker is found, brought in, and treated to undo Talon's conditioning. However long it will take for her to recover is another matter. With Zenyatta's gentle guidance, she is making progress, but still suffering. Hanzo is still distrusted, still dealing with the guilt he refuses to part with. Zenyatta suggests Hanzo meet their new guest, to work through their problems together. But sometimes recovery is about more than just talking.





	1. Still Beating

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a few friends who love Hanzo/Widowmaker, title is from Trout Heart Replica: "Killing things is not so hard, it's hurting that's the hardest part."
> 
> Please note that this fic deals with severe mental issues, and while Amélie and Widowmaker are not exactly the same, Widowmaker being the Talon conditioning coming through, it will not be treated as Dissociative Identity. Thoughts of suicide and violence will be in this fic.

_A Flash, then a sharp pain in her neck. Ana, it must have been. She could see the footsteps as she crumpled._ _The old bat was still around, her little tricks as frustrating as ever._

_“No pulse.” A sharp intake of breath as the world seemed to slow. She fought, tried to jerk against the sleep that was threatening to overtake her._

_“It’s there, barely still beating, just slowed.” Angela said, “We can get her back, help her-,”_

_Widowmaker's vision blacked out._

  

* * *

 

Amélie shivered as she stood from her bed, gathering a nondescript black sweater from the small trunk by her bedside. It was cold, she could feel _cold_ again. Unpleasant as it was currently, a part of her body rejoiced in the ability. Her hands shook. _Completely useless for sniping_. She hadn’t sniped in months. Hadn’t needed to. She could feel without the death. Somewhat.

She was a work in progress. Then again, the same could be said for nearly everyone in the world.

She shivered again, and curled back up in her bed, looking through the small window next to it. It was bright, a beautiful morning. The sun shone through the base window, illuminating the small room she had taken for her own. Her private haven. A place to recover from the horrors of Talon. Her skin still itched, still ran cold. But her head was less crowded with ghosts, less affected, and she was, somehow, getting better. It came and went. She knew she still wasn’t safe.

The knock at her door was expected, but she gave verbal confirmation anyway. Her visitor was always very adamant she give permission for him to come in.

“Enter,” she said. No, that wasn’t right. Her tone was too cold again, “Good morning.” Better.

Zenyatta floated next to her bed, inclining his head slightly in greeting, “Good Morning Amélie. I trust you are well?”

“As well as can be expected,” she answered, “I have been having nightmares the past few nights, as I said.” Honesty was a hurdle hard to overcome. Lying to the Talon psychiatrist was necessary. Even one hallucination or misstep would mean reconditioning for a week or more. Here, she had to trust in the omnic that worked with her.

The omnic hummed thoughtfully, “I see. Angela mentioned you refused sleeping treatments.”

Amélie nodded, “I know, logically, that it would help, but-,”

“You are uncomfortable, given what happened. I understand. I know that is why you also did not want to let your heart rate be normalized.”

Amélie nodded. She knew she couldn’t deny all treatment, lest the brainwashing set in again, but physical touches were still difficult for her. She did her oxygenation exercises daily just as she had been doing in Talon, instead. Maybe one day.

“You still dream of the kills?”

Her voice was more hushed now, though she knew Zenyatta was free of judgement. “I always dream of the kills. My nightmares are simply the ones where i enjoy them.”  

“Talon gave you that reality, associated good feelings with killing. That’s just a conditioning of the brain, a faulty code, if you will.” His voice was so calm always, even when talking about the most brutal subject matter.

“I dreamt of- of your-,”

“Mondatta.”

“Yes,” she breathed. She fidgeted with the blanket, looking down. _Ashamed._

“I have already said that I have forgiven-,”

“ _S’il vous plait._ You are not a liar. You were angry, _non?”_ Amélie interrupted, irritation boiling up unasked. She knew she had had a temper, but even the feeling itself was overpowering. _Anger, feel it course_ , said her mind, _Isn’t that amazing?_

Zenyatta hesitated, a sigh escaping him. The orbs twirling lazily around his head spun a little faster, “I have worked through it. But yes. I admit, I was angry. I thought about revenge. I thought about betraying Mondatta’s own teachings, my own beliefs, just for a chance to return the pain I felt.”

Amélie’s breath hitched. Zenyatta liked to make a secret of his own turmoil, as much as he had helped her and others.

“But,” he said, his orbs slowing to their usual speed, “I have accepted and acknowledged these feelings. They are not what is needed for true harmony. The discord upon my soul would only grow with that outcome.”

“I understand. And yet you are here, helping me. _Why?_ ”

Zenyatta looked at her, his visual nodes meeting her eyes as he spoke, “It is what he would have wanted- to help you.”

She took a slow, deep breath, and Zenyatta seemed to sense something amiss, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I don’t deserve this,” she said, her voice flat, factual. Her heart beat slowly in her chest, her skin still ice cold.

 

* * *

 

“Hanzo,” Genji spoke.

Every time, Genji’s voice still surprised him. Just that slight difference, his brother’s voice colored by age and filtered through cyber enhancements. Every word was a new burden of guilt upon his haunted soul. Hanzo knew he could not remove his visor for very long, lest infection take him, but he preferred Genji’s voice without it on.

“Hanzo, my master would like to ask you a favor, if you are amenable.”

Hanzo huffed irritably. He was not good at therapy with the monk, and hated the way he could pull Hanzo’s worst thoughts from him so coolly, so easily. He hated showing weakness to anyone, including to meddling omnics.

But, begrudgingly, he had to admit it was working.

“What does he require of me?” Hanzo replied, turning to face Genji. As usual, there was the expected heavy feeling again, curling in his gut. At least he was no longer flinching in Genji’s presence.

Genji walked closer, leaning on the railing next to where Hanzo stood. The stance was so reminiscent of something a younger Genji would do. He could almost picture his brother’s damnable smirk. It had taken Hanzo so long to even admit the cyborg in front of him was his brother, but in every move he made, he was proven wrong over and over again.

“He would like you to join him in visiting Amélie tomorrow morning. Kind of a group therapy session.”

Hanzo sighed. The Widowmaker. The sniper that had taken countless lives. Hanzo supposed they had that in common, even if most of Hanzo’s kills were for the clan, not a terrorist group controlling him. Hanzo wondered if Zenyatta considered their cases that similar.

A group for recovering murderers. She’d killed her husband, he’d attempted to kill Genji. Killers, hopeless, the both of them. They’d both killed many more afterward. That kind of sin could not be washed away with words, with candles, with muttering in the night and bargaining. It _should_ not.

“Hanzo, it is okay to deny. You are thinking far too much. He means no insult, just thinks that you could both talk. You know she is rarely allowed visitors. Everyone’s far too loud.”

The older brother nodded, taking a slow, deep breath as his posture straightened.

“Think about it, brother. You know he would not push the matter if you-”

Hanzo interrupted his brother’s consolation, “I will be there.”

Genji put his hand on Hanzo’s bare shoulder. Hanzo imagined he was probably smiling, this was his way of expressing that instead, “I am glad.”

He turned and left, and Hanzo tried not to picture his brother’s dying form beneath him for the seventh time today.


	2. With Your Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this one a bit long, I think?

“Greetings,” Hanzo said, his posture stiff as he bowed before the woman in the bed. He had seen her before, of course. On the field, a smile on her face as she pulled her trigger, laughing as her bullets missed him by mere inches. Her face seemed different now. Cold, but haunted. Her hair was loose, dark circles beneath her eyes. She wore a large black sweater and was curled up in her bed comfortably.

He had been perplexed by Overwatch’s strange insistence that she be rehabilitated. As if she could truly be forgiven, despite everything. _And yet every move you make is monitored, you are greeted with glares and sidelong glances,_ Hanzo found himself thinking.

" _Bonjour,_ _Monsieur_ Shimada.” Her tone was formal, and she bowed her head respectfully.

“Thank you for joining us, Hanzo,” Zenyatta began, “I’d like to start out with just some meditation. We won’t touch too much on personal things today.”

Amelie nodded and crossed her legs on the carpet of her room. Hanzo did not hesitate before assuming his meditation position beside her as Zenyatta began guiding them through breathing exercises.

 

* * *

 

A week or so later, they had built up enough respect to start talking, but something had Hanzo on edge. Of course, the omnic noticed immediately.

“Hanzo, speak openly. I sense great disquiet in you today.”

Of course he would pry. At his illogical feelings, no less. He knew it was ridiculous, to feel envy of the brainwashed former talon agent. And yet, with every time Amélie’s name was mentioned with a smile and his own was greeted with a grimace…

“I am jealous,” he began, as Amélie watched him carefully, seeing straight through him, “Of you.”

She said nothing, and he was glad for it.

He continued, “It is nonsense, I am aware. You had little control after being conditioned to kill. You have killed those they care for, and they welcome you back with hope. I still sense they consider me the killer I know myself to be. For good reason.” He hung his head, not meeting her gaze as he spoke, though he could feel her keen gaze upon him.

“These are valid feelings.” Of course Zenyatta would say that, “It is good you recognize these thoughts as illogical-,”

“They are not,” Amélie interrupted Zenyatta, her tone clipped, “They are unwise to trust me, to hope I recover. I should never hold a rifle again.”

Hanzo looked up, confused, “You are recovering well, and your aim is invaluable.”

She shook her head, “I am a killer. I am untrustworthy, and though they see the friend they once knew in me, I am not her. I barely remember that life. I am a tool, a broken one, now. I still remember my first attempt at recovery. They trusted me, and I killed him. I may make the same mistake.”

Tears rolled swiftly down her cheeks, though she did not seem to notice. Her voice did not waver, and she did not let any trace of emotion show through her speech.

“You are crying, Amélie.” Zenyatta gently offered her a tissue and she bowed her head to blot the tears away.

Her emotions were fragile, returning as if all at once. She recovered quickly, although she seemed confused at her own reaction.

“I… have no excuse.” Hanzo clenched his fist, frustrated.

“You, too, were conditioned.” The omnic’s voice was calm as Hanzo looked up at him.

“What? No. I was-,”

“You were trained from birth. You were the head of the Shimada, but you were still a tool to the council of elders who bid you to kill Genji.”

Hanzo went silent, looking again at the floor. The omnic changed the subject, and led them in another exercise.

 

* * *

 

_She didn’t remember the first kill. It was her activation, her sleeper tripwire. She could barely remember her life before it anymore, as if her brain had switched her memories clean off._

_She wished she could, but the only clear way she could remember him was by the coldness of his skin. Sometimes memories slipped through the cracks, however, and she held them close. One such memory featured her quiet wedding, a small affair among only close friends. She was crying, and Gérard held her hands, kissing each one gently before calmly telling her he loved her._

_She dreamt of it again, and wished she could remember what he was like, beyond the snippets of conversation, the sparse, dusty memories. Perhaps they were fake too._

 

* * *

 

She took up reading, writing poetry, and even practicing ballet, when she could be allowed in the small practice room usually used for fighting. Zenyatta kept time for her and played music at her whim, meditating while she practiced her basics.

Hanzo started visiting. A bottle of good wine and his own sake on his hip. She greeted him with a small smile and they sat on her bed side-by-side until she bade him goodnight. He had to admit, it was nice to have someone to talk to.

He would visit before leaving for missions and after returning. Zenyatta encouraged their friendship, insisting that socialization was an important part of recovery. They never talked about their lives before.

It was nice.

 

* * *

 

Recovery, however, is rarely easy.

She slipped back into Widowmaker one night, awakening from a nightmare. She made it down one hallway before Hanzo cornered her. Immediately, he seemed to recognize something had changed.

She attempted to slip past him, under his arm, but he was too fast and caught her immediately, holding her wrists as she quietly attempted to escape. Her skin was cold, and her eyes were even colder.

“Release me, imbecile,” Widowmaker spat. Had she been armed, he likely would have not been a challenge.

“No. We are to return to your room. I will watch you until the morning comes and Doctor Ziegler can figure out what triggered your return, Widowmaker.” He spoke stiffly, as if she were a stranger.

“I will kill you when you least suspect,” she hissed.

He marched her back, unfazed, “I know.”

 

* * *

 

He didn’t see her for nearly a week after that incident. When she realized she had switched back into her Talon mindset, she was nigh inconsolable. Only Zenyatta saw her, and occasionally Doctor Ziegler snuck in to provide essentials. Zenyatta allowed his spot on a crucial mission to be taken so he could look after her.

Hanzo was allowed in when he returned next. She didn’t bother with niceties and sat with her legs curled to her chest. He brought her tea that night, and she accepted, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Hanzo sipped his own tea thoughtfully, thinking about his response carefully, “It was not your doing. You said this was caused by a nightmare, no?

“My phrase was said in the nightmare. It’s disgusting. It makes my skin crawl,” she pulled at the blankets, “I threatened you. I tried to attack you several times while you watched me.”

“You had no weapons and have not trained for months now. It was a bit of an unfair contest.”

She was silent, and Hanzo watched her. Eventually she meets his gaze and speaks.

“I have a very odd request. It might make you uncomfortable.”

He narrowed his eyes before responding carefully, “I cannot promise my response until i hear your request.”

She sighed, “I find myself in the uncomfortable position of needing comfort. I have limited contact to the rest of Overwatch outside of you and Zenyatta and the doctor, who I am sure is rattled by my slip. My question is: May I hug you for a moment? I know it is not common in-,”

“Of course.”

She looked surprised for a moment, but then nodded, moving to stand. He set his tea down carefully and then stood, holding his arms out, looking stiff and awkward. He must have looked ridiculous, because the corners of her lips twitched and her eyes crinkled slightly.

“Just stay still, you don’t have to do anything.”

Her arms wrapped around him gently. He could feel the cold of her hands through the fabric of his outfit, but let her continue. She didn’t pull away, as if soaking in the little amount of touch she could. Hanzo gingerly reciprocated, unused to the closeness.

Eventually, she did pull away, and gave him a small, polite bow before sitting back on her bed.

“Thank you, Shimada-san.”

“Hanzo.”

She smiled, this time. It was natural, and it was probably the first time he’d seen her properly do so, “Hanzo, then. I appreciate it, and apologize for the intrusion on your space.”

He shook his head, “I did not mind. I am not used to that kind of thing, but I am not opposed.”

They talked for another hour, about various other subjects. He let her hug him once more before he departed, and she smiled again as he left.


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo deals with Genji being injured all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo's turn to suffer a little, huh?
> 
> Edit: fixed tense shift!!

Hanzo saw it happen. A talon agent armed with a single sawn-off shotgun had his hand on Genji’s shoulder. The blast echoed through the hangar bay where they were engaged. Hanzo screamed, and the dragons erupted from his arm, following the trajectory of his arrow, swirling around Genji before obliterating his enemies. 

Time seemed distant, non-existent, as he rushed to his brother’s side. He was panting, blood escaping the chest cavity of his armor. His dragons, Genji severely injured, it was all too reminiscent of another time.

Hanzo screamed for aid, a confirmation came, but from whom he couldn’t be bothered to care.

「Genji! Please, not like this. You can’t!」

Genji coughed, his filtration systems stuttering as he slowly spoke, 「Brother, it can be fixed. I’ve had worse.」

Hanzo growled, 「Worse than a shotgun blast to the chest? When?」

Genji struggled to breathe, 「Hanzo, you know when. And- I recovered.」

Hanzo felt himself get pulled away, he couldn’t breathe, watching Dr. Ziegler put him into stasis with her staff, the nanobots setting to work immediately in a stream of bright yellow.

Of course this had happened before, when every part of him was ripped apart by Hanzo’s own dragons. He felt sick as they made for the transport, and time passed while he stared blankly at the wall of the carrier.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo did not seek company for days, avoiding everyone. He trained nearly constantly as his only distraction, until his fingers bled. When he could no longer use a bow, he ran for miles, he climbed the cliffs around the base. He didn’t feel alive until his muscles ached.

Widow found him in the range one day, saying nothing, but watching him intently. He looked at her questioningly, before noticing an access card hanging from her neck.

“Athena is watching me, if I lose control, she will contain me,” she said, by way of explanation, but spoke no further.

He trained, every shot hitting every bot the range could produce. Eventually he set his bow down and turned back, surprised to find her still there.

“Hello,” he greeted.

“I’m displeased,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him, “You never came to greet me when you returned. I suppose I cannot plausibly give you your welcome home present.”

He laughed at that, a small chuckle as she smiled, just a little.

“I apologize,” he bowed as he spoke, “I did not mean to offend you, I just-,”

She interrupted with a wave of her hand, “I heard what happened. Genji came to see me, to ask if you had spoken to me at all. When I said I had not seen you, he seemed worried.”

Hanzo paused, Although she was allowed more visitors, not many dared to see her, particularly not former Overwatch members.

She stood, motioning to him to follow her, and they ended up in her room as they always did. She pulled out a bottle of very fine sake and handed it to him, “A gift. Talk to your brother. You have been doing well, so far. It would be a shame for your progress to be set back again.”

He took the bottle, and they shared it well into the night. It pained him to admit, but it was nice to see her again, and especially when she was clearly feeling better again. He hugged her before leaving that night, and she clinged to him a little harder. He let her, assuring himself it meant just as much as any hug.

“Can I kiss your cheek?” she asked, her voice soft, “I missed you.”

He felt his heart beat ever so slightly faster, but nodded. Her lips ghosted over his cheek, her breath cold as she softly pressed a kiss to his skin.

“ _Bon soir_ ,” she waved as he made for the door.

“Good night to you as well." He walked away with the memory of her touch haunting him. _A killer should never be allowed such gentleness_.


	4. Around, Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> faire la bise, a french way of greeting/saying goodbye involving kissing both cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the updated tags, mentions of hallucinations, alcoholism, and suicidal thoughts this chapter, although mostly in the past tense.

Amélie awoke in a cold sweat and sat, trying to control her breathing. Slow as it usually was, it was coming in agonizing pants. Perhaps she had ought to consider Ziegler’s offer to start oxygenation therapy. Maybe she needed a heat lamp, cold-blooded as she was.

She looked at her hands, shaking ever so slightly.

 _If I had been on the field, I would be useless,_ a voice in her head said. She shook it off.

She wondered if her skin would ever be its normal color again, if it would be slightly different from its original shade. A shiver ran through her and she pulled on a sweater, heading for the gym so she could work out her fears with some ballet basics.

A distraction would probably be useful. After all, as long as it wasn’t harmful, distraction was a legitimate coping method, according to Zenyatta.

* * *

 

Hanzo was up incredibly early, as usual. He rarely slept more than a few hours unless it was mandated by Ziegler and her medication, usually before missions. His anxiety ate at him deep into the night, and he hated being dependent on substances.

It had taken him a long time to work off his alcohol dependency, but now he was able to recreationally drink without it being a threat to his safety and mental well-being.

It was freeing, in a way, but he did miss the stupor some nights when he was alone with his thoughts. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d had it as bad as Amélie, with her conditioning, regardless of what Genji’s master would say.

His room was spartan, bare except for essentials, and he tended to only use it for sleeping and isolation. It was a cold place, and he disliked it immensely. Lately he had found more peace outside, even with the constant roar of the waves on the cliffs. There was a time he wouldn’t have trusted himself to be near cliffs, but it seemed those days were past him for now.

Early morning, before the dawn, found him wandering the corridors, perhaps for some tea, or just to get in a little target practice before Morrison made it down there. A sound caught his attention near the gym.

The lights were on and the soft sound of Athena playing gentle classical music took him by surprise. Amélie was there, stretching and looking clearly displeased.

“Good morning,” he said, and she jumped slightly, “I did not mean to take you by surprise, my apologies.” He lowered his voice and bowed slightly, and for a moment he worried he had truly offended his only friend when she let out a breath.

“Not to worry. I simply was off my guard.” She stood up from her stretch, straightening her posture before offering him a sincere, if small, smile, “Thank you for saying something. I might think you were a figment of my imagination.”

“Do you deal with things like that often?”

She was silent a moment, continuing her ballet exercises before answering, “Sometimes. On bad nights. Always after reconditioning. Less now”

He said nothing, but instead took up his meditating position on the ground.

“I hope that- that is- I am glad it is lessening. If it happens, how do I help?”

She paused to look at him. Hanzo looked up from his position on the ground. She appeared thoughtful for a moment before turning and answering, “If you speak, or touch me on the arm or shoulder, I will know you are real. It takes a moment for me to orient myself. I don’t speak to them anymore.”

Hanzo went back to his meditation, content to let Amélie practice as he grounded himself from the anxiety that had woken him. She did not move to the rhythm of the music, but it was probably a familiar piece to her.

“Would you like to talk?” she said, surprising him as she continued her routine. He breathed. Would he? Too long he had feared sharing the thoughts that plagued him. Amélie would listen, at least. She did not judge, and he had seen the darker side of her as well.

“I worry that Genji has me here to check my true character. If I do not pass, will he run me through, as I deserve? It would only be honorable to die by his hand, considering…”

“Genji is honest, from every encounter I have had with him. I know he was angry for a long time, but he is truly at peace, and wants to connect with you,” she said, “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes,” he said, “He said he was glad I came to see him. He said he was worried. It seems wrong, when he was the one that was injured. Again.”

“Not by your hand.”

“No,” Hanzo acknowledged, sighing, “But it feels like it was my doing. Any wound he suffers has always felt like my doing, even when were boys. My crime notwithstanding, I imagine it will always hurt like this. It feels unfair to him.”

Amélie sunk to the ground in a split, her knee touching her forehead almost seamlessly as she responded, “You’re right, it is, but you know it too. You’re making progress. That is good.”

He smiled a little, looking up at her, head bent completely over her knee, the hair from her long ponytail falling all over her face, and chuckled a little.

“I knew I should have tied it in a bun. Stop laughing.” She looked over at him, flicking her long hair until it was out of her way, and- there was no other word- pouted.

He laughed even harder, letting himself truly let go, until it wasn’t even about her hair anymore.

She stood again, and gently prodded him in the side with her foot, “You are a menace, Shimada Hanzo.” It took a moment for him to regain his composure, wiping tears from his eyes as he sat up straight again and shook his head.

She was smiling again, and so was he. She held a hand out and he took it, pulling himself to his feet again. He had never noticed, but she was ever slightly taller than him. She was close, very much inside his personal space, but she had never seemed to have much of a sense of that.

“Am I too close? I never know what is too much.” She moved to back away, but Hanzo shook his head.

“It is a change, but something I should get used to. It seems to help you, anyway.”

His comm unit beeped. He had messaged Zenyatta for an early meeting about their upcoming assignment off-base.

“I have a meeting, I am afraid. Are you meeting with Angela today? Perhaps I can stop by afterward.”

She nodded, “Go, then. But first-,” she leaned in, and pressed her cheek to his, first one side, then the other, kissing the air.

“À bientôt,” she said, returning to her stretches with a lazy wave.

“Yes,” he said, and the air returned to his lungs all at once as he left, confused and just a little flustered. He knew it was simply a very _French_ thing to do, but it still had taken him off-guard. She asked for touches, simple, a hand on her arm, hugs, sitting close. Perhaps she was just simply craving a taste of her past, just casual interaction.

To his complete surprise, this new advance did not, in fact, bother him. He left smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> À bientôt- see you soon.
> 
> I write this sparsely, and I'm feeling in a mood for WidowHanzo so here have an update. Also, as someone who has been to france and had the "bises"- the kisses (usually 2, one on each cheek, but up to 5 where I went, if the guys didn't try to get a lip smooch between them), it's a little shocking when you're just suddenly pulled into, sorry Hanzo.


	5. Saltwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can feel something again, Hanzo wishes he could let himself follow suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, have another one.

Amélie danced again, twirling and stretching as if it was everything she knew. Her skin was a deeper, flushed shade than normal. She'd been at this for nearly an hour. She twisted and spun, her legs defying the forces of gravity as she followed the music Athena provided her with. It’s clear she knows it inside and out.

Hanzo wondered if she realized how long it had been today. At least a few hours. Surely her feet were not as conditioned as when she did this for a living. The music died down as he approached, a decrescendo as she met his eyes, not breaking her posture.

“Amélie, your form is-,” he was at a loss, wanting to say a million things, “excellent.”

She stopped then, one leg still above her head before setting it gently to the ground. Her smile was small. It dazzled, and Hanzo wished he could preserve it.

Finally, she spoke. “It relaxes me. I did ballet for so long not even the reconditioning could break me. It is nice to do it in the open. Athena knows all the pieces I've forgotten over the years.”

The friendly AI chimed in, “We were acquainted in the old Overwatch, though you may not remember. It was brief, but I have every record of every performance you've done. I cycle through selections for this. I'm glad it's to your liking.”

“I wish I could have seen you in a real performance.” It’s the truth. He wondered if he would have appreciated it as much.

Amélie laughed at this, her chuckle ringing through the practice hall, “Genji, he has told me that when you were younger you were quite- how did he put it- stuck up. A nerd.”

Hanzo shook his head, “I followed the rules. I was not considerably book smart or anything of that kind. I suppose that counts.”

She stretched, Hanzo recognized it as a cooldown. “I loved ballet. I suppose that made me a nerd as well.”

“I highly doubt that.”

She picked up a water bottle, then looked at him, “I wonder if you would have come to my shows when you were younger?”

Hanzo thought, “I attended many such performances, but almost always for business. I did not enjoy it or pay attention to the content, a fact I am deeply regretful of. Perhaps I did see you perform without realizing.” Had he ever been to a ballet in Paris while she was a performer? He doubted Genji would remember in his stead, and he had always focused on the real reason to attend such functions.

She led him with a nod of her head towards the exit. “I am intruding on your room now, I have free access to the living quarters and yet we still spend all our time in my room.”

Hanzo had nothing to fear, truly. It was just her, and he rarely used his room anyway. Yet he found himself nervous. It was sparse, barely lived in. He had few personal effects. Would she mind? Even her small room seemed more cheerful than his. He let her in with no fanfare and she followed as the door slid shut. She removed her slippers, bare feet making almost no noise against the cold concrete floor.

“Merci, Hanzo.” Her hand touched his arm in thanks and he shivered. She looked around at his neatly folded sheets and took a seat on the bed.

“I apologize. My room is not quite suited for guests.”

Amélie waved a hand in dismissal, “You’ve never tried, I know you. You do like to keep people out.” She smiled, taking in his bow stand and few personal items, a picture and a small dragon token he’d received as a boy.

“I suppose you are right,” Hanzo conceded, feeling entirely awkward. Where should he sit? The floor, perhaps?

She looked him directly in the eye, eyebrow arched, “Of course I’m right, now come sit with me.”

He nodded, taking a seat beside her as he toed off his shoes at the door. He sat beside her quietly, sitting almost too straight. It was still odd for him, he had never imagined actually spending time here.

“It smells pleasant in here. Is that incense?”

He nodded, “Genji brought me some, in hopes the scent might aid my sleep. It's not… detrimental although I wish it did more to help.”

She hummed for a moment, “I like it. That scent is what I've come to associate with you. It's comforting.”

The admission made him balk. “You find me comforting?”

She met his eyes, he must have looked surprised because she chuckled, “We have much in common, and we spend enough time together. It's nice.”

He made a noise of agreement and nodded. He wondered if she would run if she knew how much of his thoughts she seemed to take up. She was well within her rights, he felt as though letting this affection continue might be a breach of some kind. Still, he was ever the professional, and if he never acknowledged it, it would never be an issue.

She broke the silence first, regarding his profile fondly.

“You're not much like Gerard, you know, but sometimes you remind me of him.” Her tone turned sad, then. He put a hand on hers and she did not make to move it. His thumb swept from side to side in what he hoped was a comforting fashion.

“He was headstrong. We fought, at first. I didn't think I would ever love a pigheaded man like that. But then something changed, and he apologized, He truly did not seek anything from the friendship until I asked, and it was the best mistake of my life to indulge him.”

Her breathing, slow as ever, was a little uneven, and Hanzo realized she was crying. Tentatively, he wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into his chest unabashedly.

“I never thought I would cry again,” she said, throat tight around the emotion, “I hate it but- but at least I can feel it again.”

Hanzo stroked her hair, smooth beneath his fingers, his chest tight in empathy. “I'm sorry,”

“Don't be, I'm crying in the arms of a good man. That's not too bad.”

He let out an unamused huff, “I think you need better standards.”

“I think you need to reassess your own, mon cher.”

She stayed with him until her curfew, and he held her as long as she needed to feel okay again. Hanzo wondered if she might return the favor someday, if he ever let himself cry the way he probably needed to.

He never did, not without copious amounts of alcohol, sometimes even other vices, and he always cried alone.

It would be nice not to, he thought, before drifting off that night.


	6. It All Comes Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Hanzo actually talk, Hanzo and Amelie have some realizations, Amelie takes an offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG, BUT I GOT SOME RECENT KUDOS AND FIGURED I'D FINALLY CLEAN UP MY NOTES AND FINISH THE NEXT CHAPTER.

Genji sat completely visorless across from Hanzo, Zenyatta floating nearby, an arbiter between them. Hanzo was at a loss, but luckily his brother began. Hanzo’s gaze settled on his face. The scars that mottled it still haunted Hanzo in every nightmare.

“I am glad you feel okay talking to me, Hanzo,” he said, quietly. Hanzo nodded, and Genji continued, “That being said, Zenyatta has made me aware of lingering feelings I continue to fight, I would rather we talked before they grow and fester unattended.”

“Feelings? Of- of anger, I assume?” Hanzo felt his gut clench. So, it was as he imagined. Of course the man held him accountable for his actions, even under a pretense of forgiveness. He deserved it, anyway.

“Hanzo, I do not intend to act on or indulge them, but they cannot be smothered. You of all people should realize the lingering effects of repressing emotions, on insisting they cannot be, deep beneath the surface.”

He did, of course, now more than ever. Zenyatta and Amelie had both worked with him quite a bit on it. He repressed everything, in order to not lose control, but they ate at him forever in their stead. He nodded, still feeling the apprehension. If tensions grew and Genji lashed out, Any self defense would be seen as aggression, no doubt Zenyatta would take his side.

He felt a cool sensation running down his spine, and a calm spread over him. Zenyatta’s orb of Harmony rested over his head, and Zenyatta gazed at him coolly.

“Be still, there will be no blood spilled here. I assure you, I am impartial in this matter, I will interfere if need be.” His tone was cool as ever, and Hanzo had seen him in battle. He was capable, and Hanzo trusted him. Hanzo took a deep breath and gave in to the calm as his brother shifted nervously.

“Of course I am still working through my feelings about what happened, it is hard to admit how much I hated you for so many years. Blind, unabated. I hated myself more- that I had to continue this existence with so little of what I felt was ‘myself’.”

Hanzo said nothing, but looked into his brother’s eyes, wracked with old pain. Pain he had put there. An unpleasant twist of guilt felt leaden in his gut.

“My peers in Blackwatch avoided me, for good reason. I was ready to cut anyone down at a moment’s notice. And they encouraged it, at times. It made me a talented killer. I think Jesse was the only one of them who pretended not to be scared of me. He’s a smart man. He’s one of the only people I could have called a friend.”

Genji looked to Zenyatta, “I found the Shambali on accident, Zenyatta begged me to stay, he wanted to heal my soul. I had never felt as though I belonged like that. He talked of forgiveness, and I began to believe. Deep down, I didn’t want to blame you. You were a tool for the elders, after all, nothing more.”

“I had a choice,” Hanzo said quietly.

“You did not. What was the alternative? A lifetime of running, an impossible escape from the castle. That, brother, is no choice.”

“I ran anyway. I chose both, in the end.”

Genji shook his head, “It doesn’t matter now. It’s not pleasant, this feeling of anger that sometimes comes up, Hanzo. I want to forgive completely, and yet... sometimes I wish you had been more like me. We could have faced it together.”

“I cannot change my youth. Much as-,” Hanzo felt his throat constrict,

“I know this,” his voice crackled slightly, digital voicebox grinding, “so why is it hard to let go?”

Zenyatta chimed in, “It is easy to dwell in the past, to hope and live in fantasy. It’s hard to face the present as it is, accepting the past.”

The brothers remained silent for a moment, before Hanzo spoke again.

“I truly thought it was the only way. I did not consider an alternative. It is my greatest shame, that I did not do more to save you.” His voice wavered, and he focused on the sensation of Zenyatta’s orb to keep himself from losing composure.

It was silent for a few moments, but the sound of gentle bells began after a few, and Hanzo felt his breathing even as he stared adamantly at the floor.

“My master has said many times that feelings can coexist. Beings are complex. I can want to be near you while acknowledging the hurt you caused so long ago. I can get to know the person you have become while acknowledging where you began.”

Hanzo remained silent, but looked up to meet his brother’s eyes. Scar tissue marred his face, patches of his eyebrows were completely missing, but his eyes were the same. Hanzo suddenly felt it hard to breathe.

“In, out, remember your breathing, just like when shooting a bow, brother. We will work through this together.” Genji’s hand found his. They had not been affectionate as children, but knowing the metallic hand holding his belonged to his brother was enough to force his breath in and out again.

They talked for hours.

 

* * *

 

Amélie was in his quarters when he returned, reading a novel on his bed. His eyes were red, and he had to look a sight. She just pointed to his small workspace, where he usually cleaned his equipment.

“Genji let me know when you were done, I took the liberty of providing some post-emotional refreshment.”

She had made tea? Sure enough, a small cup was waiting, next to the kettle, tea bag at the ready. He looked back at her, but she was pretending to still be absorbed by her book. He smiled softly to himself and took the kettle, pouring it out and letting it steep. He kept stealing glances at her. She was lying on her back, one leg up to prop her book against. Her hair was half-up, a little disheveled, but still beautiful. Parts of her skin were turning lighter, with the new oxygenation routines, and yet he knew her skin was still soft. She was in her comfiest clothing, baggy, not particularly alluring by itself, but she had a way of turning anything into fashion. 

God, he was fucked.

She didn’t turn a page the entire time he was waiting for his tea to steep, the water turning a light green as he stood there. Eventually, he threw the bag away and joined her, sitting at the foot of the bed, careful not to disturb her.

“How was your day?” he asked, carefully. She looked at him and sighed dramatically, closing her book with a show before tossing it on the floor.

“It was terrible. I had needles of all kinds shoved into places I would really rather them not be and then Ziegler tells me we’ll need to run MORE tests tomorrow. It’s unacceptable. I’m tired,” she said with a sigh, “And on top of that, I’m told you had an emotional session today which means we both need comfort and relaxation. Which is why I’m here.”

Hanzo gave her a look, “You are not obligated by any-,”

“I’m well aware, Monsieur Shimada,” she said sharply, arrogantly, before her tone softened and she gives him a smile, “I simply wish to.”

He smiled back.. He should tell her, he decided, but only when other things were more figured out. He should admit that his feelings were turning a different direction.

“So, Amélie, what are we doing tonight?”

“We are going to cuddle up and watch some terrible nostalgic movies. This is non-negotiable.”

She moved, making enough room for him to lay beside him as she commanded Athena to bring out the holoscreen.

 

* * *

 

“And how are you feeling emotionally this week? Any extreme highs or lows since your tears recently?” Ziegler asked, chart up on her interface.

Amélie thought for a moment. The night before, she had fallen asleep against Hanzo’s side, had snuck back out before he’d awoken. Feelings weren’t like they had been before, but they were there.

She started, taking a deep breath, “I think I have feelings for Hanzo.”

Ziegler looked up quickly, surprise then morphing into joy as she flicked her interface off and took Amélie’s hands in hers. She seemed lost for words. Amélie looked away for a moment, embarrassed by the confession that had fallen so easily from her lips.

“I don’t know, it’s not how I remember it being. A little muted, maybe, but still present. Or maybe it’s just new, but-,”

“This is wonderful!” the doctor said, her eyes lighting up.

“You don’t think it’s callous of me, after…-,” the unspoken ‘after what i did’ hung in the air between them. Mercy just shook her head.

“I know you loved him dearly. I know it wasn’t your fault, that you still hold the guilt. But as your medical advisor I cannot condone letting that restrict you. It is in the past. Are you planning to tell him at all?”

Amélie shrugged, “It is only honest, otherwise I am taking advantage of his willingness to provide support. I would have communicated this earlier, but I was unsure.”

Mercy nodded, leaning back and turning her display back on to make a quick note, “Okay, well, that answers my question, I think. You’ve been doing very well, so I have one more question for you.”

“You may ask it.”

“We were wondering if you might not like to try going to the firing range this week. I believe you can handle it, and Winston has been designing a prototype for you to try, if you are willing.”

Amélie seemed confused, “I feel as though I am still a danger to you.”

“Then Athena alone will monitor you.”

The former Widowmaker looked at the floor, and then at her hands. They shook a little, her skin was a little lighter shade of blue. She remembered her gun, the excitement holding it would bring, the only feeling she could enjoy.

She would take it back from Talon, and kill them all one by one.

A flash of anger flew through her, her fingers itching for her rifle, and she nodded.

“I would like to try, but it is difficult. Expect something.to go wrong.”

Angela smiled again, nodding, as she stood from her chair. Just as she was about to leave, she hesitated, turning, “I’m so glad you’re doing well. The others are hesitant, but I have been encouraging them to visit. I knew you only a little, before. I can see her still in you, you know. You’re still her, despite all of this.”

Amélie smiled then, her eyes welling with tears, “Thank you Doctor Ziegler, for not giving up on me.”


End file.
